Playing for Keeps (11 page)

So she just sat back and watched as two grown women flirted with a twenty-year-old guy who was, at most, a player in training. Then the Lancers game began, and she commandeered her brother so he could explain every nuance of every play to her. He was the ultimate football nerd, able to recite even the most arcane of rules and familiar with every relevant stat, thanks to his lucrative fantasy football exploits.

Or as he characterized his stint at Villanova, “I’m in it for the money. With any luck, I’ll retire on my earnings the day after graduation.”

Erica had no doubt he could do quite well. He was a statistical genius. And if the reaction of her friends was any indication, a babe magnet. She usually enjoyed that part the most, but on the afternoon of her twenty-seventh birthday, she was all business, stopping the progress of the game with her remote so Connor could explain what just happened, and then muting it during every replay so he could re-explain it.

“Can they hit Johnny like that?” was her favorite question.

And then there was, “Bannerman made that happen, right? Even though he didn’t have the ball, he somehow saved Johnny’s ass? Explain that to me.”

Finally her brother demanded, “What’s with you?”

“Hmm?”

“You always liked Spurling, but this is insane.”

She feigned bewilderment. “I’m a Lancers fan. What’s the big deal?”

Connor turned to Jenna and May, and predictably, Jenna caved first. “She met Johnny during a business trip. He bought her a drink, but that was the end of it.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” Connor glared at his big sister. “You met Spurling? Let him buy you a drink? Then didn’t seal the deal?”

She laughed. “
That’s
your objection? That I didn’t sleep with him?”

“My objection is that you didn’t score Super Bowl tickets.
He
scores, you score, I score. That’s how it works. I can’t believe you screwed it up.”

“Drop dead,” she advised him, sending a quick glance at May and Jenna to prevent further bleeding. They seemed sufficiently shocked by the non-brotherly attitude, and for the rest of the game left it to Erica, who doggedly pelted her brother with questions.

When the Lancers finally slogged out a win, Connor declared it to be the toughest game of his life. Still, he had made money on it, so he was in a good mood, and didn’t seem to notice how unusually ecstatic Erica was about the win, especially after Jenna revealed the four-layer carrot cake and they all sang “Happy Birthday.”

Jenna and May gave her a cool gift in the form of shoes, a pair she had drooled over for months. Then Connor gave her a framed photo of himself—no surprise there, but she sheepishly admitted she loved it.

Family tradition dictated that she prepare party favors for her own birthday, so she gave them each one, apologizing that the jersey-covered throw pillows weren’t up to her usual standards. “I’ve just been so busy at work.”

But they seemed to love them. Connor’s was screen-printed with a picture of: Connor. Jenna’s had an image of the latest Superman. May’s bore the handsome face of William Shakespeare, arching an eyebrow for effect.

They were still giddy when Erica’s cell phone rang, and she grabbed it quickly, imagining it was her parents calling from France. But a quick glance at the screen told her otherwise.

Johnny?

Looking up at the three expectant faces, she explained, “It’s Steve Adler. I’ve got to take it.”

Then she dashed into the bedroom and slammed the door. “Johnny?”

“Hey, beautiful. Did you catch the game?”

“You were amazing! And so were Decker and Bannerman. It was the best game ever.”

A rousing laugh sounded from the living room, then Connor called out, “Hey, Erica. Tell your boss it’s Sunday for Christ’s sake.”

She hoped Johnny hadn’t heard it, but he asked warily, “Are you with someone?”

“My brother and my friends. It’s my birthday,” she explained. “They always make a big deal out of it.”

“Your birthday? You’re supposed to tell me these things. Now I look like a chump.”

“Be serious. We’re just business colleagues, remember?”

“I can’t send flowers to your office,” he reminded her. “So give me your home address.”

“You can’t send things here either.” She smiled. “You should celebrate your victory with your teammates, Johnny.”

“I want to celebrate with
you
. You’re coming to Portland next Tuesday, right? For the screening? I figure we’re due for another exception to the rule.”

She laughed at the playful suggestion. “We’ve had our last exception, trust me. And I probably won’t be there. Steve keeps dropping hints that Caldwell can handle it alone, since the rough cut is so impressive.”

“Who the heck is Steve? Your other boss? How many do you have?”

“Too many.” She closed her eyes and sighed, wondering if she could be this tough if he were actually available. But he wasn’t. He had a blind date with his father’s choice for a daughter-in-law, or some similarly domestic candidate, and Erica had a date with advertising destiny. “I need to get back to the party, John. If I don’t see you—”

“You’ll see me,” he promised. “I don’t give up this easy.”

“You have to. You promised.”

He cleared his throat. “Right. I was just kidding. Have a great birthday, babe. And try to make it to the screening, okay?”

• • •

She knew she should feel sad, but instead, an amorous fog engulfed her. His voice had been so sexy. His interest so obvious. And his yearning so sweet.

So she wandered happily back to the living room, then winced to see three pairs of eyes staring at her as though shocked and appalled.

“What’s wrong?” she murmured.

May spoke up first. “You’re still seeing him?”

Erica started to protest, but Jenna filled her in crisply, “Steve called
me
while you were in there. Asking me to resend the latest numbers. So consider yourself busted.”

She winced again.

“We probably would have guessed it from your expression anyway,” Jenna drawled. “You’re
sleeping
with him? After the big sob story?”

But Connor seemed even more upset. “What’s going on, sis? Are you dating him or not?”

“Nothing’s going on,” she assured him. “We fell off the wagon a couple of times, but now it’s really, really over.”

“It’s over? And still no tickets? That’s just sick.” He glared, indignant. “You put out for a superstar but don’t bring home the bacon? I’m ashamed to call you my sister.”

She bit back a giggle. “You’re such an idiot.”

Jenna elbowed Connor, then told Erica, “Let’s have cake. And you can tell us all about it.”

• • •

She didn’t tell them everything. But after swearing her brother to secrecy, she confessed enough to indicate that she and Johnny had had romantic but ultimately meaningless closure.
Twice
. And while she didn’t outright lie, she left the impression that it had all taken place in a bed, not up against a door. Perfectly respectable. Sweet really. Barely sexual at all.

“You need to do it one more time,” Connor insisted. “Get the tickets, then get out. He’s bad news, sis. A player, remember? Just thank God he stayed interested long enough for us to score.”

Jenna rolled her eyes. “I’m soooo glad I’m an only child. Anyhoo, here’s
my
advice. Give him whatever he wants. You’re obviously in love, and he keeps calling. So ipso facto, you belong together.” Her eyes sparkled. “Want to hear my best-case scenario?”

Erica nodded.

“He wins the Super Bowl. Then he says good-bye to you, even though it’s killing him. But he does it for his father, Coach what’s-his-face. Then when he shows up at the restaurant for the blind date, guess who’s sitting there looking all gorgeous? You! Because the coach is a softie after all. Then you and Johnny get married and live happily ever after.”

“You really need to stop watching romantic comedies,” Erica said, laughing. “How does that solve anything? He still wants a housewife and babies. A schoolteacher can pull that off because she has leave time in the summer. And substitutes when the unexpected happens. But advertising waits for no man. Or woman.”

“Then quit advertising,” Connor interrupted. “What’s so good about it? I thought you wanted to be a starving artist. With a rich guy like Spurling, you don’t even have to starve. And you can paint clouds and snowflakes in the baby’s room. What am I missing?”

“Besides a brain?” Jenna muttered.

They all laughed, but Erica’s smile was halfhearted, mostly because May hadn’t said a word. And in such matters, May’s word was law. Even Connor seemed to realize it because he leaned back and looked at the silent member of the group, and Jenna did the same.

“It’s over,” Erica assured them, but still she gave May a wistful smile. “Right?”

May hesitated, then nodded. “Sorry, Erica, but yes. You need to let it go. He wants a wife and children, and he wants them right away. So suppose he chooses you over the blind date? Then what? All your hard work goes down the drain? For a guy who’s used to calling the shots? A quarterback? I don’t know much about football, but I know that’s not the kind of guy
you
need.”

“Geez, May,” Jenna said softly. “That’s harsh. What if they’re really in love?”

“They barely know each other.”

Erica sighed. “That’s true. And Johnny knows it too. He wants to string it along until Super Bowl Sunday, but by then, it would be a real mess. That’s your point, right?”

May nodded.

“Unbelievable,” Connor muttered. “What about me? The
real
victim here.”

“Poor baby,” Jenna told him with a laugh. “Give me and May a ride home, and maybe we’ll let you see our boobs.”

Erica drew back, momentarily shocked, then screamed with laughter. “Did you actually say that? My God, no wonder I keep you around.”

She maintained her smile even when she looked into May’s sober face. Her friend clearly felt like crap for giving such harsh advice, and to be honest, Erica did resent it a little.

But May’s wisdom was legendary, so she pasted a smile on her face, forced each friend to take a big slice of cake with them, reminded them to take their throw pillows, then curled up on the couch while Connor drove them home.

She needed this time alone. Time to really put Johnny behind her despite the excitement of his phone call. It wasn’t just May’s counsel that required it. Erica’s own gut was instructing her to let him go.

And even if it weren’t, she reminded herself of the last time May had come through for her in an even more brutal and hopeless situation. Everything had been such a mess back then, starting with the creepy encounter with Frank. But May had cut through the bullshit, and Erica would never forget it.

It had started so innocently. The agency had hired a motivational speaker to address the staff, and even though Erica had seen this particular lecturer before, and even though she had tons of work to do, she couldn’t resist seeing him again. So she had loaded up her laptop with files, then arrived at the lecture room early, scoring a seat in a corner, as far from the speaker as possible so he wouldn’t be insulted by her occasional inattention.

During the question and answer phase, Frank had appeared out of nowhere, his aftershave as heavy as ever, his attitude even more pompous. She had groaned, but what could she do? He was management, and despite her visceral dislike of him, he hadn’t actually done anything to her. He was arrogant. A know-it-all. Completely overbearing. But in his defense, he didn’t seem aware that Erica found him boorish, and he had risen to a position of prominence in his profession, so it was always possible she was wrong.

As was his habit, he moved in too close, making his face seem enormous She murmured something about wanting to hear the speaker, but he just brushed it off, and who could blame him? She wasn’t really part of the session at this point, was she?

Even when he moved in a bit closer she hadn’t actually been worried. There were at least two dozen other people in the room. This was a nuisance, nothing more. But she made a point of telling him she had to leave in a few minutes for a meeting.

And he made a point of telling
her
he was scheduled to attend the same meeting, so not to worry. Then he launched into one of his infamous, endless monologues. But for once, and to her surprise, it seemed like a compliment of sorts. He referenced something she had said earlier in the month about female sports fans—that the market treated them like secondary buyers, when in fact they did most of the purchasing. And far from riding their husbands’ or boyfriends’ coattails, pretending to love sports to garner attention, they were rabid fans in their own right and should be treated as such.

She had been so impressed. So flattered. Sure, Frank was Frank, so his breath was too raspy, his body too looming. But he was validating Erica’s theory, word for word, citing an NPR podcast he had allegedly heard the night before.

“You were absolutely right,” he told Erica staunchly. “Women who watch sports aren’t just piggybacking on the interests of the men in their lives. They have their own passion. And the connection to sports can be pretty intense.”

She had nodded, pleased but creeped out, which she totally blamed on her own silliness.

Then he had launched into a husky, innuendo-laden lecture. According to NPR, women who watched sports with their husbands and boyfriends had twenty percent more sex than their non-sports counterparts. They initiated sex more often, and more tellingly, climaxed more frequently, often during halftime.

And unattached sports fans of the female variety? Women like Erica herself? They had more sex, more climaxes, and masturbated more often than any other group of females in the country.

By the time he started breaking down the statistics in graphic detail, she had been frantic to get away, her lungs empty, her palms cold and clammy. She had murmured in protest, but he ignored it, continuing to creep her out.

She wanted to run, but the audio-video equipment occupied the entire back third of the room. To get away, she would need to cross between the speaker and the audience, interrupting their cheerful, lively debate, ruining the presentation with her deer-in-the-headlights foolishness. And so she stayed put, frozen really, hating herself as much as, if not more than, the grotesque monster who held her captive.